than one.

Although a large number of the enormously preponderating military
spectators were in the khaki kit so admirable for work (and so
depressing, unswanksome and anti-enlistment for play, or rather for
walking-out and leisure), the experienced eye could see that almost
every corps in India furnished contingents to the gathering. Lancers,
dragoons, hussars, artillery, riflemen, Highlanders, supply and
transport, infantry of a score of regiments, and, rare sight away from
the Ports, a small party of Man-o'-War's-men in white duck, blue
collars, and straw hats (huge, solemn-faced men who jested with
grimmest seriousness of mien and insulted each other outrageously).
Officers in scarlet, in dark blue, in black and cherry colour, in
fawn and cherry colour, in pale blue and silver, in almost every
combination of colours, showed that the commissioned ranks of the
British and Indian Services were well represented, horse, foot, guns,
engineers, doctors, and veterinary surgeons--every rank and every
branch. On two sides of the roped ring, with its padded posts, sat the
judges, boxing Captains both, who had won distinction at Aldershot and
in many a local tournament. On another side sat the referee,
_ex_-Public-Schools Champion, Aldershot Light-Weight Champion, and,
admittedly, the best boxer of his weight among the officers of the
British Army. Beside him sat the time-keeper. Overhead a circle of
large incandescent lamps made the scene as bright as day.

"Well, d'you take it?" asked Seaman Jones of Seaman Smith. "Better
strike while the grog's 'ot. A double-prick o' baccy and a gallon o'
four-'arf, evens, on the Griller. I ain't never 'eard o' the Griller
till we come 'ere, and I never 'eard o' t'other bloke neether--but I
'olds by the Griller, cos of 'is name and I backs me fancy afore I
sees 'em.--Loser to 'elp the winner with the gallon."

"Done, Bill," replied the challenged promptly, on hearing the last
condition. (He could drink as fast as Bill if he lost, and he could
borrer on the baccy till it was wore out.) "Got that bloomin'
'igh-falutin' lar-de-dar giddy baccy-pouch and yaller baccy you
inwested in at Bombay?" he asked. "Yus, 'Enery," replied William,
diving deeply for it.

"Then push it 'ere, an' likewise them bloomin' 'igh-falutin'
lar-de-dar giddy fag-papers you fumble wiv'. Blimey! ain't a honest
clay good enough for yer now? I knows wots the matter wiv _you_, Billy
Jones! You've got a weather-heye on